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Come December each year, my 4 and 7-year-old's playroom is piled high with loose Lego bricks, long-forgotten bags, and discarded crafts.
Throughout the year, whenever doting friends or family visit, they bring gifts, despite my protests. And lately, birthday parties have gotten out of hand with all the presents.
When I suggest we let go of some of these things, like the broken figurines with the missing heads, I am greeted with a symphony of "No mama, I want to keep them!"
This gets me anxious.
The holidays are coming, and despite reminders to family and friends that the kids need absolutely nothing, I know there will be a new toy garbage truck or Lego set coming our way very soon.
Not to mention, I work from home, and the kids' collections invade my workspace. So, about five years ago, I started an annual ritual to clear the clutter.
My ritual is always the same. One day each December, after lunch, while the kids are at school, I grab a garbage bag and get to work on reorganizing their play area.
I work quickly, making sure my own sentimentality doesn't hold me back. I immediately remove the broken and maimed toys, sorting through the cars and trucks. I also make sure all the art supplies are functional and worth keeping.
After all is said and done, I typically amass enough to fill two full garbage bags ready to donate and another smaller bag with the broken toys packed up for the week's garbage pick-up.
The first time I did this, I worried about how my kids would react when they came home and saw that their pirate ship, for example, was missing.
However, I have done my rec room revamp every December for the past five years, and my kids have yet to notice a single toy missing.
In fact, after school, when they come down to their kid cave and see it with less stuff, they get more excited to play with what's there.
The fake food and mini cash register that was once buried under all the now-disposed-of junk is front and center, ready for action.
The puzzles that had been hidden from view are now visible and very appealing. Oh, and not one word was said about the pirate ship.
When I was a kid, I had a fraction of the toys as my kids. I remember a box of gently used Lincoln Logs and a few Barbies, which my dad glued back together when they broke.
Each Christmas, my sister and I would carefully curate a list of wanted items from the Sears catalog, which we never got. However, getting less made me appreciate the few toys I did receive, like my beloved Kenny Rogers Collector's album.
Looking back, there was one word I heard more than anything from my parents, "No."
No, you can't get that. No, you can't go over to her house, you didn't finish your homework. No, you can't order soda.
They were tired, worked multiple jobs, but didn't give in when I threw a tantrum and demanded a pack of Skittles at checkout.
Hearing "no" as much as I did was probably the best gift my parents could have given me. It helped me see that life isn't about getting everything you ask for. In fact, it's often when you don't get what you want that you learn to appreciate what you already have.
However, I'm not so good at always saying no to my children.
I usually let my kids pick out a treat at the grocery store, and when they were toddlers, they amassed quite the collection of Hot Wheels cars purchased from the checkout end cap to avoid a tantrum.
Sitting here, yet again, among all my kids' stuff about to embark on my annual downsizing, I think it's time to also sort through some of my parenting protocols.
